


Feast of Fools

by AEpixie7



Series: Ineffable Bureaucracy [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Also me: this shit's basically the staypuft marshmallow man now from all the fluff, Awkwardness, Dining at the Ritz, Don't make it fluffy, F/M, Getting caught dating your nemesis by your former employees, Humor, Idiots, Idiots Everywhere, Idiots in Love, Insulting table manners, M/M, Me: Bureaucracy isn't fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 14:42:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20707712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AEpixie7/pseuds/AEpixie7
Summary: Beelzebub agrees to go to dinner with Gabriel at the Ritz, despite their relationship consisting of strictly sex up until this point. Neither of them knows how not to be an awkward idiot, but they're adorable awkward idiots. Then they get caught by the Husbands, because what did you think would happen, you chose the Ritz, you adorable morons.





	Feast of Fools

**Author's Note:**

> I was debating making this a part of the series, since the series is strictly smut so far, but FUCK IT I'm making them adorable. This series was always self indulgent anyway.

She said yes. Beelzebub had agreed to go out to dinner. In public. With Gabriel. A social engagement that involved more than just fucking each other into oblivion. What the hell were they supposed to talk about? Was he going to embarrass himself, consuming a meal in front of her, and _humans_ for that matter? What was he even thinking? Why had he suggested this? He felt stupid, and nervous, and foolishly excited. 

“What about this one?” his tailor startled him out of his thoughts, holding a dark grey waistcoat out in front of him. Gabriel had requested something out of the norm, and of course it wasn't because he wanted to surprise Beelzebub when he showed up, dressed even more sharply than usual. Certainly not. 

He reached out and rubbed the fabric between his fingers, admiring the subtle black brocade pattern. It was much darker than the color palette he preferred, but as his tailor helped him slip it up his arms and smoothed the fabric over his shoulders, he couldn’t help but grin at his reflection in the mirror. The profile it created when he got it properly buttoned was stunning. He hoped it would garner the kind of flustered blush in Beelzebub's cheeks he'd been dying to see. Even if she slapped him for it later. _Especially_ if she slapped him for it later. 

“The usual lavender tie with it, sir?” the tailor asked, and Gabriel paused, glancing down at the man before looking back at his own reflection. He had a flash memory of that scarlet sash Beelzebub had worn at the airbase, and his grin widened. 

“Do you have anything in red?” 

*** 

Beelzebub stalked around the strip of high end shops, annoyed at herself, and at Gabriel. Why did she accept his invitation to dinner? The idiot had never consumed a proper meal in his entire existence, and she wasn't exactly versed in proper meal etiquette either. The last time she’d actually, _really_ consumed a meal on Earth had been… sometime last century, she couldn’t quite remember. And what was she even supposed to wear? She scowled around at the selections in the windows around her, growing more and more annoyed at them. Why was everything humans made so horribly _gendered?_ This was why she normally just willed her clothes into existence, however she liked them. Her aesthetic had never been particularly feminine or masculine, it was just… hers. 

She growled in frustration as she pulled her phone out, then promptly shoved it back in her pocket. Normally she would consult Gabriel on matters of fashion. But she didn’t want him thinking she was nervous. Or that she’d even spared any extra thought on her appearance for their <strike>date</strike> (_wait, no, it wasn’t a date! It was just dinner._) That would suggest that she cared. Which of course she didn’t. She just couldn’t believe their collective stupidity. He never ate, and she hardly ever changed her clothes, and yet somehow they had agreed to get dressed up and go to dinner. _Stupid._

One window caught her eye, and she stopped to admire the outfit. The mannequin was pleasantly androgynous, with a fauxhawk slicked back as it leaned in a fairly masculine pose, one hand tucked into a pocket. The entire ensemble was black, but somehow it didn’t look monotone. Black tailored trousers and knee high leather boots, a black cotton mock neck and black blazer, the sleeves gathered casually up to the elbows. Around the neck hung a long platinum chain and a delicate amethyst pendant, the color very reminiscent of Gabriel's eyes. She grinned to herself, imagining the way those eyes would widen when he saw her dressed like that. She miracled the outfit from the window onto herself, and made only one minor adjustment. She added a couple inches of heel to the boots. Not so much for the height, more because she wanted a weapon in case she needed to kick him under the table. 

*** 

Gabriel paced in front of the Ritz, once again checking his watch. Beelzebub was late. She must be making a statement by it. Clearly it was a conscious choice, it wasn’t like she could get caught up in traffic on the way out of Hell. But what exactly did her tardiness mean? Was she trying to be “fashionably late,” as the humans called it? Did she even know what that meant? Or was she running late because she didn’t actually want to meet him for dinner, she was just being accommodating when she said yes and now she was having second thoughts? What if she never showed up? How would that change their… whatever it was they were? He didn’t want it to change, he was really enjoying the casual, comfortable intimacy they had achieved without expectations. Had he forced expectations by asking her to dinner? He should have never done this… 

“Calm your wingzzz, hummingbird, I'm not that late.” 

Gabriel spun on his heel at the sound of her voice and that familiar buzzing, his breath literally balling up and halting in his throat when he saw her dressed like _that_. He didn’t deserve the double take he received from the Prince, when she’d shown him up so magnificently with that outfit, but she, too, stopped in her tracks, chewing her lip as she admired his choice of wardrobe. 

“Wow, Bee, uh…” 

“Gabe…” 

They both said breathlessly, followed quickly by nervous laughter. Beelzebub tucked her hands in her pockets and stared at the ground, the toe of her boot kicking nervously against the concrete. Gabriel beamed when he saw the hint of blush on her cheeks. 

“Do uh… do we need to skip the meal and head straight to the bedroom, angel?” Beelzebub said sarcastically, and Gabriel tapped a considering finger against his bottom lip, his eyes drifting down her body with increased interest. 

“_Gabriel?_” 

“I’m thinking.” 

Beelzebub rolled her eyes and tried to contain her grin. She stepped forward and grabbed him by the arm, spinning him toward the front door to the Ritz. “Come on, wank wingzz. I haven’t had a decent meal in centuries. Let’s have dinner. Then perhaps I'll find some creative new uses for a neck tie. Which izzz nice, by the way. That color… it'zzz very nice on you.” 

Gabriel flustered, holding the door open for her with a trembling hand. “Thank you. I like your pendant. The color… it’s so familiar…” he teased as she sauntered through the door. 

She forced a smile, ignoring the few incensed glares she received upon tossing a sing-song “fuck you” back at Gabriel. 

The maitre d sat them at a very pleasantly lit table near the piano and departed to allow them to look over the wine list, although Gabriel's eyes were glued just beyond his menu, to the demon across the table. 

“Take a picture, it'll last longer,” she said in a deadpan, while staring at her menu. Gabriel chuckled and dragged his eyes back down to the wine list, before sighing and tossing it onto the table. Beelzebub glanced up at him questioningly. 

“I don’t know what I’m looking at. What the fuck is an 'hors d'oeuvre' and what color of wine do you order with any of this shit?” 

Beelzebub grinned, gathering Gabriel's menu on top of hers and setting them both gently in front of her. “Usually you order white with chicken or fish, and red with beef,” she explained, surprisingly gentle in response to Gabriel’s obvious frustration. “Although usually I just say 'fuck it' and order whatever the hell I want.” 

Gabriel grinned and nodded, lacing his fingers and resting his hands comfortably in front of himself. “Well then, since you know this stuff better than me, why don’t you do the honors? I trust you.” 

She shifted in her seat and cleared her throat, somewhat uncomfortable with that particular admission. Also somewhat uncomfortable with how fondly he was observing her every move. 

The server seemed abnormally surprised that Beelzebub was ordering for the both of them, for some reason. She was very self assured with her selections, and Gabriel seemed impressed when the waiter gathered the menus with a softly uttered “very good.” 

“What was all that, then?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with fascination, and Beelzebub straightened her lapel and jutted her chin out confidently. 

“I ordered a bottle of Chianti for the table. The lamb for me, and for you, a vegan eggplant parmesan with truffle oil that didn’t exist on the menu until a few moments ago.” 

Gabriel blinked. “I have no idea what any of that means, but it sounds amazing.” 

Beelzebub grinned, ruffling her own hair a bit. “Vegan meanzzz no animal products. I assumed, with you being an angel and all, you wouldn’t want to… consume anything that was made at the expense of any of God'zzz creatures,” she stammered, staring down at her lap, Gabriel having gone quite still in her periphery. 

“Oh. Well… thank you, Beelz. That's…” his voice broke and he cleared his throat, nervously rearranging his napkin in his lap. She immediately interrupted him, lest he start spewing sentimentalities. 

“Whereas _I_ will be consuming an adorable baby animal, because I'm a demon and I'm evil.” 

Gabriel grinned and nodded, choosing not to point out the fact that her “I’m evil” statement was immediately preceded by a demonic miracle in which she created something vegan on the menu solely because she didn’t want to offend his angelic sensibilities. 

The meal was exquisite, as was the wine. Gabriel hadn’t spared a second thought to his nervousness earlier- conversation between the two of them flowed as easily as the wine. Mostly they just bitched about their respective jobs and stresses, discussed the food, and more often than not, relentlessly teased each other about their table manners. 

“I’m just saying…” Gabriel said as he twirled the tiny dessert fork in his hand, the golden light of the overhead chandelier gleaming against its polished surface. “There’s no way a demon didn’t have their hands in creating _this many_ forks for one meal. That’s got Pride written all over it.” 

Beelzebub smiled at him and rested her chin on her palm, leaning in closer to the angel as she arched an eyebrow at him. “Right. Because pretentiousnezz is something your lot aren’t known for _at all_. Besidezz, this many forks just impedes the sin of Gluttony. No self respecting demon would do such a thing.” 

“Yes, because demons are known for their self respect,” Gabriel teased as he sank his fork into the soufflé in front of him, holding it out to Beelzebub and offering her the first bite. She glared at him in response to his teasing, though her smile betrayed her. She leaned forward and closed her eyes as she savored the delicate pastry, the pleased little hum she made turning into a soft buzz. Gabriel didn’t even try to hide his delight at the sight. 

A loud crash pulled his attention away, and he turned quickly to find the source- one completely insufferable Principality had caught sight of the Archangel and the Prince, his shock causing him to inadvertently walk right into a table, sending glassware tumbling. 

Beelzebub turned toward the commotion as well, and upon seeing the demon Crowley following closely behind a very flustered angel, she promptly dove under the table. 

“Come on, really? They already saw us, Beelz…” Gabriel said, nonchalantly tossing his napkin up onto the table and tipping the tablecloth up with a fingertip so he could peek under the table at her. 

“You don't get it, Gabriel. I’m the _Prince!_ I can’t be seen like this with an angel!” she whispered frantically, glancing quickly beneath the tablecloth at the approaching pair of snakeskin shoes. 

“Seen like what? Having an innocent meal with a political rival?” 

“Nothing about this looks innocent, ya twit. Look at you, you’re dressed like a whore…” 

Gabriel snorted out a laugh, but quickly allowed the tablecloth to drop and conceal the Prince, because Aziraphale had approached, his demon companion tucked closely by his side and glaring so sharply through his sunglasses that the lenses almost started sizzling. 

“Aziraphale, what a… well, not _pleasant_, but a surprise nonetheless,” Gabriel said with a very spurious smile. 

“Gabriel, a surprise indeed. I thought I made myself perfectly clear…” 

“Aziraphale…” Gabriel interrupted, a hand running through his hair as he purposefully remained seated, in a show of seeming unthreatened. “Your self interest is astounding, as always. For your information, my being here today has nothing to do with you. I was simply sharing a meal with my political rival, who for some reason has chosen to observe this conversation from underneath the table…” 

He grimaced as Beelzebub slammed a closed fist down on his foot. 

Aziraphale returned the saccharine smile as Crowley leaned awkwardly back to try and peer under the table. 

“Gabriel, I find that incredibly hard to believe, given that you don’t consume such _gross matter,_ as you’ve so eloquently put it. And even if you did, there is a myriad of other restaurants in London that Crowley and I don’t frequent, so I can only question your motives, especially when the Lord of the Flies is involved…” 

Gabriel considered the angel, before his violet eyes drifted over to the Serpent. He knew he should feel guilt for having judged Aziraphale over his close relationship with a demon when he himself had fallen victim to the same wiles, but he simply couldn’t find the humility to give a shit. 

“Not that it's any of your business, Aziraphale, but Beelzebub and I are fuck…” 

He jumped as Beelzebub pinched the inside of his thigh _hard_. He swatted her hand away, and kicked wildly at her under the table, eventually settling in his seat and smoothing his waistcoat with an aggravated sigh. 

“We’re…” he stammered, clearing his throat as he straightened his tie. “_Making an effort_ to be more cordial with each other. That’s all.” 

Aziraphale stared for a moment, clearly wrestling with his choice of words and ultimately settling on restraining his comments. 

“So you're not… trying to restart Armageddon, or anything like that? Because… you two were the ones pushing for it so strongly at the airbase,” Crowley interjected, and Gabriel's gaze fell on him with no small amount of disdain. 

“As a matter of fact, I'm not. I couldn't give a bigger _shit_ about Armageddon at this point, or the Great Plan, or you know what, _the Ineffable Plan_ for that matter. I don’t care to try and discern God's plan for me, or even try to do right by Her anymore. Because I did that. I followed the plan _meticulously,_ just as I thought She wanted me to, and look what it got me. So many performance reviews, and manager meetings, and fucking _paperwork._ So much goddamn paperwork. Frankly, it’s not fair. Because _you_…” Gabriel stood suddenly, using his imposing height to loom over Aziraphale and invading his personal space, making the Principality back away and grip his demon's hand in a moment of insecurity. 

“You _hedonist_… have been doing whatever the Hell you wanted down here on Earth, for millennia, and apparently, God just… _turned the other cheek_. So no. I'm not restarting Armageddon. I’m not even doing my fucking _job_ anymore, because I’m done. I’m done working towards a goal I can’t know, for a boss no one's even _seen_, and watching you reap all the rewards. I’m going to do what makes _me_ happy from now on. And you know what? Beelzebub makes me happy, and yes, I'm doing her. I have sinned _a lot_ in the last few weeks and it felt _fucking amazing_ and… I'm happy! _For once_ in my entire miserable existence, I'm content. So at least I know I did something honest. Not for anyone else, and not because I was told to. So I guess if I Fall for any of this shit… at least I have a friend on the other side.” 

Gabriel finally took a deep breath in, unaware of how heated he'd gotten. He placed his hands on his hips and sighed, casting his eyes down to the ground and shaking his head. He shouldn’t have said any of that, and he certainly shouldn’t have said it in front of _those two idiots_. Now he sounded jealous, and petty, and _smitten_ and _oh fuck Beelzebub had heard all of that! Shit shit shit!_

He was pulled from his interior panic as Beelzebub crawled awkwardly out from under the table, wobbling a bit in her high heels before she bent down to wipe the knees of her trousers. She straightened and met his eyes, her baby blues abnormally soft and reassuring. 

“Wow. It'zz a good thing you didn’t just reject God and pour your heart out in the middle of a crowded restaurant because that would’ve been _really_ uncomfortable for everyone involved,” she said, grinning mischievously, though her eyes were still warmly regarding her Archangel. 

Gabriel choked out a strained laugh, then glanced around at the humans who had been dining only a moment ago, but now seemed frozen in various positions around the dining room. Crowley and Aziraphale also looked around in surprise, before Beelzebub approached and slid her hand into Gabriel's, an action which earned shocked stares from everyone, Gabriel included. 

“You’re… you're serious? Aren’t you?” Aziraphale said quietly, his expression disbelieving as his eyes darted between the two of them, though his mouth turned up in a slow, amused grin. 

“Gabriel, why don’t we leave the traitorzzz to their meal. I’m suddenly in the mood for something else entirely…” she said, almost a growl, and playfully bit his upper arm, over his sleeve. 

Gabriel seemed joyfully pleased with the look of horror on the faces of their counterparts, and feigned offence at her suggestion. “But, Beelz, you haven’t finished your soufflé!” 

She chuckled at him, her eyes glowing red. “I’m wearing the fishnets under these boots…” 

“Goodnight!” he barked, gripping Beelzebub's hand and leading her past the stunned angel and demon. 

He paused near Aziraphale, his eyes drifting over toward Crowley for a moment. “Try the eggplant. It's positively sinful.”

**Author's Note:**

> Can you imagine the conversation between Crowley & Az over dinner? They are SHOOKETH


End file.
